


Beware the Jubjub Bird

by Alpherae



Series: Seven For A Secret [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Fade to Black, Ficlet, Gen, No beta we die like lemmings, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:22:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26057926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alpherae/pseuds/Alpherae
Summary: The problem with prophecies is that, whether they are true or false, fulfilled or defied, there will always be consequences.Two centuries after the fall of Dagoth Ur, someone who was once called the Nerevarine runs into something that used to be an Ashlander.
Series: Seven For A Secret [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540762
Kudos: 3





	Beware the Jubjub Bird

Her knees hit dry grey sand instead of hard floorboards, and Neht stared in astonishment. The dusty, brown panelling of the Blue Palace’s East Wing had vanished, swept away with the blink of an eye. Instead of mould and mouse-dirt, the stench of dead fish and seaweed filled the air, and the sunken lane where she knelt was lined with salt-poisoned trees. Neht set her staff and dragged herself upright. The lane ended behind her, the path cut off by dead branches, so she shrugged to herself and limped forward.

The sand shifted easily under her feet and she was sweating by the time the long, winding lane made one final turn and opened out into a crossroad. An elegant table was set in the middle of the clearing, only honey-smeared bones, swan feathers, and marzipan crumbs remaining of a very expensive, very Imperial banquet. The two men seated on either side of the table were equally Imperial, long-nosed and olive-skinned, but their clothes were centuries out of date. For a moment, Neht wondered if they were caught here as she was, wondered how long it had been, and then the man on the left turned to look at her with stony eyes.

He changed as he stood, sneering at her like an Altmer, _as_ an Altmer, and changed again with every step until it was a lanky Dunmer who gripped her jaw, forcing her head up until she met Its eyes, bone-fire orange and contemptuous. Something about the face It wore rang a bell deep in the drowned morass of her memory.

“Look what’s showed up,” the Madgod said. “Bit late for dessert but the bones should be good for cracking, right Pelagius?”

The other man shrugged, too swamped in self-pity to have any left for her.

“Peryite might have something to say about that,” Neht forced out. “Seeing as I was trying to help one of your people.”

 _Not that I’d have agreed if Dervenin had been_ honest _about that._

“Running errands, little Nothing?” Sheogorath pulled her chin higher until she had to stand on tiptoes. Neht’s staff fell away and she flung her arm across Its wrist, trying to support her own weight before it broke her neck. “Doing what you’re told? Such a change.”

It shoved her away until she tripped, falling hard on her back. Neht didn’t move for a moment, catching her breath and watching as It stepped on the end of her staff, flipping it into Its hand. The wood spun in Its fingers, stretching and twisting like clay on a wheel.

“Got an job for you, Nothing,” It said finally. “Pelagius is getting predictable, and that’s not good for anyone. It’s boring. Boring! Don’t like to be bored. No one else likes it either; madness loves company, after all. Or is it misery? Mischief? Well. Suppose you’ll figure it out.”

The staff was thicker and shorter than it had been before, the familiar marks accumulated over forty years of use blurred beyond recognition. The Prince dug Its thumb into one end and pulled, shaping the copper butt into a screaming maw. By the time It was done, there was a hole straight through the end of the staff and Neht had got herself mostly upright, wobbling on the soft ground. She wouldn’t be moving far or fast without support, but it was the principle of the thing.

_And where in Oblivion have I seen that face before?_

“Think you can be entertaining, useless little Nothing?” Sheogorath asked with a smirk. It leveled the staff, not at her but at the Imperial still sprawled in his chair, absently dabbing at crumbs.

“Wabberjack!”

* * *

  
Her knees hit hard floorboards, and Neht blinked, trying to figure out why she had expected something different. There was sand caught in the folds of her sleeve, her throat was dry and her jaw ached. So did the rest of her joints, but bad days crept up on her sometimes. She looked around, eyeing the dusty, brown panelling of the East Wing as she dug out a waterskin and took a drink. The room stank of mould and mouse-dirt, and salt encrusted the window-lead. If anyone came in here recently, it certainly wasn’t to clean.

_If. I’m starting to think Dervenin wasn’t being quite honest._

It took a moment before she noticed where her staff had fallen, lying just out of reach. It looked just the same as usual: a battered length of aspen-wood, two thumbs wide and five foot long, capped in copper with a neht etched into each end. That staff had seen her through five countries and four decades of use, there was absolutely no reason for the sight of it to make her blood run cold. Neht closed her eyes for a moment, trying to force herself to pick it up, and shuddered and turned away instead, crawling over to a handy windowsill.

She had passed the door to the servants quarters on the way in, a discarded broom shouldn’t be hard to find. Maybe a curtain rail, even a chair would do in a pinch. Something to help her get out of the Palace, until she could make or ‘acquire’ a new staff. Then, out of the city. If she didn’t splurge on a carriage, the inn at Dragonsbridge was cheap enough to hole up in until her joints calmed down. From there, any route that would take her south and west for a song or story, without attracting official attention.

_From either side, blight take them all. I think it’s time to go back to Cyrodiil. This whole country’s insane._

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know I bailed on the unpleasant bit. Trying to figure out the details gave me the screaming ab-dabs, never mind actually writing them down. Some things are best left to the imagination.


End file.
